What Love is to Me
by CortessaBlatt
Summary: Jaq's last mission. Oneshot.


**What Love is to Me**

_Atton Sith again. Picks up after 'Atton to Mercy' so you may want to read that first, but it's not required for you to still get it.Oneshot._

**Rated PG13**

**Disclaimer: **I suck. That is all.

**What Love is to Me**

Never had there been a harsher summer on Nar Shaddaa. Even the lowest, most sheltered section of the refugee sector was sweltering; steam rose hot and thick from the vents, men walked around without tops and women without leggings, children ran about naked, and even the water ran warm and was slowly becoming undrinkable. Whenever a refugee died, their rotting, heated corpse stank for days afterward. Meat quickly turned bad.

Jaq had been in worse spots.

Today, he sat on the ground floor of the refugee sector, beneath an enormous overhanging, swilling his warmed ale without consideration. He heat would burn the alcohol in no time. His legs sprawled outward, over the softly-churned dirt, imported from various other worlds, and he rested his head against the smooth metal plating of a nearby wall. His mark was somewhere in this rat-hole village. She was the only Jedi walking around, and he was certain she wouldn't be too hard to spot, the way people spoke about her: beautiful, graceful, kind, radiant. But then again, these people hadn't seen daylight since the war, when the sky had been blocked out with blood and machinery smog.

He had been waiting for seven consecutive days in counting. He had staked up a small camp in the corner of the sector, giving the rest of the refugees a lot of space, and had started up an act. Already he had a personality, appearance, and name all played out in front of him – a play's script untouched but lying in wait.

He had come in simple, humble robes, with a backpack slung over his shoulder, stuffed to the brim with his only belongings. His eyes were deep, innocent, sorrowful, his mouth a timid, smiling curve, his hair an untidy but cute mess. He stood with a broken slouch, as if he had seen far too much in his lifetime, which he had. His story was a sad one – a technician, forced into the war to leave his pregnant wife behind. She had died trying to find him; their child had never made it. Of course, this wasn't true, but it put him on the good side with everyone else there. He even had a ring, a fake one, that he wore on a chain around his neck. But under all of this, he had a dagger in his boot, poison in his flask, and a blaster in his bag.

All he ever needed.

So now, Jaq was sent to wait. A few timid people attempted to talk to him, but he never had anything to say, except for a few heart-wrenching sob-stories, about how his wife's hair had been golden, and their child's eyes destined to be blue, like hers. They all had similar tales of heartbreak and bitter glory and tears wept over blood-soaked ground; husbands and wives as pilots, girlfriends and siblings as human shields, children as captives, parents dying on a broken world, friends lost in other refugee camps across the galaxy.

None of these stories interested him.

Jaq sighed, shifting uneasily in his little camp. He had a forgettable face; the people here remembered him because of his story, and the gold chain around his neck. Otherwise, he would have just faded away, yet another lanky, brown-haired man in soiled robes. That was what he loved about himself – no matter how well he hit it off with someone, they could never keep his face in their minds. It was like water, running between their fingers, no matter how tightly they held it. He had a shapeless face. Men would kill to have a shapeless face, to be the invisible man. But he was the one and only: Jaq.

A commotion started up near the entrance. A crowd had gathered and Jaq stirred, rising unsteadily to his feet. The warm whisky was getting to him. He gentle nudged the bottle aside with his foot and started over, his feet soundless on the ground beneath him.

A Twi'lek spotted him and hurried over, grabbing his arms. "You asked about our Jedi, didn't you? Yeah! It's you. The guy with the ring chain!"

Jaq nodded. "Me, yes," he said in a forced, soft voice and a fake, gently-fading accent. His eyes darted over the crowd, which had begun to part. "This is to be is her?" He scrambled his words, forcing himself to sound foreign. It was working, and didn't make him sound stupid, just… confused and innocent.

"Right, yeah," said the Twi'lek. His eyes darted over the crowd before he nodded and looked back to Jaq, who flashed him a friendly smile. The Twi'lek shifted and nodded again, as if to reassure himself. "Okay. So… her name's Déesse."

Jaq gave his head a little toss, as if to shake an uncomfortable noise from his ears. "Unsure is me is to be speaking the name?" he asked in quiet, placid voice.

The Twi'lek said it again slowly, stressing each syllable. Jaq pretended to be unfamiliar with the language, sputtering over the accents and slipping over the end. The Twi'lek couldn't suppress a laugh, tilting his head back. The sun caught on his scarlet lekku, and Jaq paused to appreciate the beauty of Twi'leks, be they male or no. They were simply a poetic race.

The Twi'lek's azure brother appeared then. He tugged frantically on his arm.

"What?" snapped the first.

"I lost you, you nerf-herder!" the second barked. "You watch yourself! This sector isn't safe!"

"I was only helping out this poor man, lay off!" the first said, batting away the second. "You aren't our mother! You leave me alone."

The second rolled his eyes and stomped off. Jaq offered the first an apologetic smile that wasn't returned.

And then the crowd broke. She appeared like a golden star in a sea of black, and Jaq was stunned.

Déesse.

This was Déesse.

His mark.

He nearly sank to his knees. The Twi'lek gripped his arm and supported him, mildly scolding him for losing his footing so easily. Déesse strode forth and offered him a bright smile, and Jaq nearly forgot to bow.

She looked him over and tilted her head endearingly before she looked to his Twi'lek companion. She spoke in smooth, fluttering Basic; Jaq could taste the underlying Twi'lek in her voice. No wonder she was such a dancer – she had come from Ryloth! "Bonovin, I trust you are no problem for our new friend," she said, pressing a slim, pale finger to the Twi'lek's vest. Her skin was pallid, colorless, but held some strange glow as if she had crawled out from one of the golden droplets of the sun.

The Twi'lek – Bonovin – hurriedly bowed to her. "No, Déesse," he said. "In fact, I was… assisting him, in finding you. He seemed to be very fascinated."

She turned golden eyes to Jaq. He started. Golden eyes! How unusual! He had never been beside himself at the face of beauty, but now he found he couldn't speak. She raised an eyebrow and a genuine grin spread over her face.

"And what might your name be?" she asked him in an open, unprejudiced voice.

The words came before he could stop them. This was rehearsed. "Atton."

"Atton?" She tasted the word and he waited, listening to her reaction. She nodded. "What a… _charming_ name."

Jaq wanted to spit on himself. Atton? Where had that come from? That had not been the name had had picked out, had practiced! That could jeopardize everything! _Idiot, idiot_.

"Atton?"

He started violently, and fell backwards into the soil. Bonovin was laughing at him heartily, and the Jedi woman, Déesse, was gazing at him with concern.

"Atton?" she repeated. "Are you well?"

"I… sorry," he muttered, jerking to his feet. This was not how he wanted things to happen. He was angry with himself now. "I… I to be leaving now."

She reached out and pressed a hand to his shoulder. "No, no," she said gently. "It is alright. I understand. Most people are… overcome by a Jedi's presence. You would not be the first."

"You be must not happy," Jaq said. "People quick to running at Jedi sight."

She paused, looking him over. "You aren't from here, are you?" she said slowly.

He shook his head.

"I see," she murmured. She took a deep breath. "I agree, it does get a little wearying with people running away at the slightest sign of you, but you get used to it."

"Is not the weary bad to defy code of Jedi Jedi?" He wanted to see where she stood – if she would be easy to bend.

She wouldn't. She gave him a placid smile and tweaked his nose, which immediately tore him between fury and embarrassment. "There are some things I may change, but I believe the code is made to be followed. How would you know about it, little one?"

"Atton is to not _little_," he said.

She laughed. "Right, of course. Forgive me. I just thought that maybe… never mind." She looked him over and her eyes landed on his ring. "What's that you have there?"

He pressed his palms to it, his gaze never leaving her face. "It was is to was my wife dead remember," he mumbled quietly, looking away.

She gasped, recoiling. "Oh, I'm so sorry!"

Jaq shook his head. "Nothing is done to be for wife," he said, allowing wistful overtones to lap over his voice. "Nothing is done to be for daughter. We l –"

Déesse gasped audibly. "Oh, you lost your daughter, too?" she cried. Bonovin wisely chose to leave at that point, for she embraced Jaq tightly. "I'm sorry! I know how these wars can be…"

Jaq flushed, absently patting her shoulder. He knew Jedi were supposed to be sympathetic and hold the weight of the universe on their shoulders, but never had he met one so… emotional. _Met _one. That was a laugh. He had never _killed_ one so emotional. "Your compassion is heart to warmth," he said, almost forgetting to scramble his words.

She pulled away and smoothed out his hair, studying his face. "Where are you from, to speak like that?" she asked him, fixing her golden eyes on his hazel ones. She was nearly as tall as he was, he noticed grudgingly as he looked into her face. "You haven't quite grasped Basic very well, if you don't mind me saying…"

Naïve. Like a Jedi should be. He almost couldn't hold back his satisfied smirk. "Come far, Atton has come very far," Jaq said. "Stay I has was been on Rodian planet stink. Air toxic. Bad breathe."

Déesse blinked, pursing her perfectly round, pink lips together. She was very pretty. It would be a shame that, in time, these features would be twisted with pain and stained with blood. She didn't seem to sense his violent thoughts as she mused to herself. "You came from a Rodian planet… fascinating… but you don't have that ring to your voice or that lilt to vowels… do you know where you were born?"

He cleared his throat, offering her a timid smile. "It is what matter?" he asked smoothly, deciding she was getting a little to personal. He mussed his hair up again, in the back, so that it fell forward into his eyes. He wanted to appear as innocent and sweet as possible; she seemed to like that most, and he needed to get as close to his mark as possible.

"I suppose it doesn't matter," she agreed. He led her to his camp as she spoke to him; she either didn't notice where she was going, or didn't care. She drabbled on about Coruscant and how she had been accepted into the academy at a very young age.

_Too young_, he thought. _Not enough time to mature. She's still a clueless little girl._

He found his camp and sat down on the soft ground. He pulled his worn blanket around himself and watched her as she looked around for a moment.

"Does Jedi Jedi Dessy wish sit camp with to Atton?" he asked quietly, sweetly, making up a nickname for her on the spot. Gentle, gentle… don't trip her up.

A tiny blush came to her cute nose. She giggled, growing fonder of him by the moment, and she nodded. She sat beside him and studied his blanket before her eyes found his face. He smiled at her, but not boldly, allowing his emotions to ripple on the outside so that she could not reach his inside. She didn't seem to notice as she reached out and fluffed up his hair again. "I like you, Atton," she said. She glanced around the camp, and found one of his false datapads, on which was scrolled some religious banter or another. She nudged it aside with a flick of her finger and smiled at him again. "I think we may become good friends."

He fell silent for a moment, watching her, before his voice returned. "Atton like that he would," he said.

And she grinned.

------

They spent days together. She would tell him stories of her past, and he false tales of his own imaginary doings. She seemed to like him, and that sat with him well. In no time he would have her in his trap, ready for torture, ready to be taken or killed. Trek's eyes had hardened him, and no more Jedi could break him. Especially not a woman.

Regardless, she seemed to be eating right from his hand. After a while he stopped coming to her, and she began coming to him instead, making a calm but hungry b-line to his camp, where she would sit with him and talk to him. It was almost too easy – easy as two gizka in a barrel. He offered her his warm ale occasionally, but she never took it. Alcohol was not acceptable for Jedi, though every once and a while, if he was lucky, and it was too hot for her to pay too much attention, she would drink some, and he knew he was winning her, slowly, but surely.

_I will have you_, he promised. _You will break, just like the rest._

She never found the blaster, or the dagger, or the poison. She never saw the pazaak cards, and she never skimmed over his mind like most did. She was like a blond, giggling child, and he would sit and watch her for hours as she ranted on about women and children and the code and the war. She now willingly drank the ale he gave him, until she got mildly tipsy, and then he would placidly pull it away. It was like weaning a baby; she had to leave the rest of the world and continue on with her fate: him. And that would take time and introduction. When she got drunk, he almost risked forgetting to mix up his words, but he knew if she remembered it would cost him dearly.

The day came. He could taste it, when mirages stopped shimmering on the ground and her visits became much longer, her touches and smiles stronger and more intense. She was trapped now. There was no going back.

Poor Déesse. If his knife didn't ruin her face, the dark side would.

The heat down in the refugee sector was unbearable. People were often fainting, and the activity there dwindled down quite a bit. No one wanted to risk suffering permanent damage from the heat, so many had wandered as far from the sun as possible. It did little good.

Déesse sat beside Jaq, chatting calmly with her shoulder pressed against his. His ale bottle sat in her lap, half-drained. She didn't notice the hastily-discarded poison packet by his tent; she was too tipsy and distracted by his handsome face.

"Onderon is just an echo of Coruscant, really," she said, spreading her hands as if to demonstrate the vast difference. "As is Taris, and any other city that swallows a planet whole. Coruscant was the original!" She said this with conviction, thrusting the ale bottle upwards, so that ale sloshed loudly inside. She tipped back and took a deep gulp and Jaq smiled.

"Sound pretty city these is do," he told her. "Atton see like me them would."

"Hmm," she said, licking the lip of the bottle, smiling to herself. Pleasurable shivers started at the base of his spine, but he fought them off. Focus. He had to focus. She glanced at him with those golden eyes and laughed again. "Absolutely. Next time I get the chance, I'll bring you with."

"Thank… you."

"You never did tell me about yourself much," she mumbled. "What was your job?"

"Technician Atton was," Jaq said placidly, "is to was hooking wires get big shock."

She laughed uproariously. "Aw, you poor thing. Did it hurt?"

He smiled. "Was to little," he said. "Hurt not much."

"Mm… that's good to hear. I wouldn't want to see you hurt."

"You kind very is," he said.

She grinned and pressed her finger to his nose. His eyes never leaving her face, he brought her fingertips down to his lips, and she giggled.

"You're a good man, Atton," she said. "I know someday you will do great things."

"You and me both," he mumbled.

"Mm," she said, and laughed once more, leaning back. "Oh, the world is spinning! Round, and round, and round…" Her voice got very quiet; he watched her sink back as her giggles faded and her breathing grew soft. "… round… 'n round… 'n… rund… um… 'n…"

"Right," he said, and her eyes fluttered shut.

Jaq hadn't given her enough to kill her, if she was indeed the Jedi he was led to believe. He had given her a lot, enough to knock her unconscious, and that would do. When he picked her up and carried her off, no one thought twice of it.

People fainted in this weather. As far as they were concerned, no one was being carted off to their death.

And that was good enough for him.

------

When Déesse awoke, he had brought her back to his base, nestled in the thickest of Nar Shaddaa. She had been placed on a five-inch thick, seven-foot long slab of metal, suspended upright, and chained at the wrists and legs. A Divider had been implanted at the base of her skull, so that she could not use the Force (crafty little device invented for this purpose alone). The room around her was soundproof, for the other shifts weren't kept awake by the screaming. Walls were lined with shelves stocked with vials, needles, poisons, knives, mirrors, and anything else that might have been used for torture and interrogation.

But Jaq wouldn't need that.

He had his hands.

She came to and he stood there, watching her as her golden eyes slid in and out of focus. She stared at the floor for a moment before she retched dryly. She did this three times, and finally she managed to vomit all over the floor. He was unaffected, ordering some lackey to clean up the mess. He met her gaze with unwavering coldness and she frowned at him, her lips parting.

"Atton…"

He struck her. The lackey squealed with fright and cringed, cowering. He finished cleaning and scampered for safety.

"Shut up," Jaq growled.

Déesse sobbed openly, shaking her head. Her perfectly blond curls spilled over her shoulders, framing her broken and beautiful body. "No, no, no…"

In one swift motion, he had her throat in his hand, and he jerked her head back. Her skull thudded loudly on the metal torture table and she cried out, her face twisted up with pain. A weak, pained, wavering groan rose into her mouth and she sobbed dryly.

"When I tell you to do something, you'll do it, Jedi scum!" he shouted.

She nodded weakly, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Look at me!"

She did. Her eyes wandered over his face, and grew wide. She hardly recognized him, he knew. She searched for the ring chain around his neck. It was gone. She made a small, whimpering noise in the back of her throat.

"What?" he barked roughly. "That thing?" He laughed harshly. "You don't actually think I _had_ a wife, do you?"

Her lips quivered. She shook her head and let it sink to her chest.

"Don't act so surprised," he growled. "We all know people in the world are fake."

She began to cry. Tears splattered wet on her blouse. He wouldn't stand for it, and punched her in the gut. She screamed, trying to draw her body away, but she was chained.

"ATTON!"

"SHUT UP!" he roared, and she fell silent, quaking with the strength it took to fight her tears. His eyes flickered over the tools that he had available to him, but none fit in his eyes. Blood… she wouldn't react to blood. He knew that if he was being hurt by someone he loved… blood would mean nothing. He knew then. He knew what he could do, to satisfy his needs and ruin her at the same time. He glanced down as her body heaved with her choking sobs. His hand remained on her stomach where he had punched her, and he opened his fist, spreading his fingers over her middle. She realized what he was doing and let out a moan.

"No," she said weakly; her bright voice had turned deep with the pain of betrayal.

He slid his hand upwards and she twitched desperately, trying to free herself. It was in vain.

"I will hurt you," he hissed. "I will break you."

"No!"

His other hand found her throat again. She choked, and no longer looked so pretty with eyes wild and lips pale and wobbling. She looked away as his hand slid neatly between her breasts and pulled the clasp. Her robes fell away; the cold metal stung her skin.

He released her neck and pressed his lips to her ear. "This will only be as painful as you make it," he growled. And he went to work.

------

Her screams were beautiful to him. He worked all day, breaking her until she was nothing but a quivering, sobbing lump on the torture bed. So far, he hadn't had to result to too much pain – she seemed to be receiving the message rather well. But she was weak and torn; he had nearly taken it too far. One more time would either do it, or be too much. As he went for the last round of questioning and twisting her mind, she cried out to him to stop.

Something about her voice that time stopped him. He paused, drawing a spiraling line down her shoulder and forearm. "What do you want now, pet?" he murmured, his eyes grazing down her body.

"Atton, please," she sobbed. "Stop."

"I'm not Atton, stop being an idiot!" he snapped. He slapped her; she shrieked.

It took her a moment to regain control. Still shaking, she forced herself to look into his eyes. Something unpleasant started up inside his stomach, churning up and boiling into his throat. Guilt. Awful, painful, pure guilt… worse than the time with Trek, worse than any before, as if it was the combined effort of all that he had done. He cried out, reeling away from her. He clutched his head, doubling over, fighting for control. What… what had he done…? He tried to calm the emotions, thrust them outward, but they were clinging to him. He knew what she was doing then; he could feel her crawling through him. "GET OUT OF MY HEAD YOU JEDI BITCH!" he screamed. His hand swung out blindly, crashing through several glass bottles. The sound of shattering glass on the floor deafened him, he stumbled over his own feet and finally found her. He backhanded her… once… twice… thrice, and finally she let go.

"DON'T YOU SEE!" she screeched. "DO YOU SEE?"

"YOU SCHUTTA! YOU LITTLE WENCH! I'LL KILL YOU!" Jaq screamed, searching desperately for a weapon.

Her voice, quiet and gentle, broke through it all. "Atton…"

"Dammit," he said, sinking to his knees. The glass and liquid beneath him cut and burned, but he didn't care. He lost his face in his hands, trembling. A noise… faint, but strong, roared up to greet him, washing over him. It dizzied him and he panicked, stumbling backwards. "What are you doing to me? What have you done?"

She shook her head, watching him scramble backwards until he hit the wall. "I did nothing to you, Atton, except turn on the light," she said.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?" His hand slipped on the counter, sending him violently to the floor.

"You're feeling the Force, Atton," she said calmly, watching him as he gripped something similar to an ice pick in his badly-shaking hand. She spoke faster, but her voice still held that unyielding composure as he struggled to his feet again. "I only showed you what you already have, Atton. Don't turn away from it. The world needs you. I need you."

His feet slipped on the slick poison and blood on the floor. He struggled to get to his feet, smacking his head on the counter above. He swore, struggling to get up.

"Once your people realize what you are they'll kill you, too!" she cried. "Atton, listen! Once Revan knows you'll be killed! No one can know as much as you and when they feel the Force flickering through you they'll see nothing but death for you! The Sith feel no mercy! NO MERCY, Atton!"

He was on his feet.

Her words became faster, more frantic. "And they'll feel you! I just opened you up, Atton! There's no hiding anymore! Not from the Jedi, not from the Sith, not from yourself! Atton, I love you! I want you to live, Atton. This is for your own good. Please think about this, I –"

"_You_…" he growled, starting towards her. He was blind, with spinning rage, overwhelming emotions he couldn't piece together. The space between them was closing rapidly.

Her voice was an almost unintelligible slur. "You don't know what you're doing. You have to face what you are and I don't care what you do with it as long as you realize, Atton, you're special –"

And he drove the blunt weapon through her. Her words halted abruptly and he could only feel detached relief as hot blood streamed over his hand, onto the floor. Her body slumped in the chains, no longer held up by her own will. The thudding in his ears stopped, like a heartbeat halted, and he stood there gasping for breath.

"I'm _not_… Atton…" he snarled, and left the knife inside her.

------

He strode quickly through the base. Move, move, move… no time, no time… Reality and detached calm was seeping through to him. He redid his belt as he walked, swiftly, his booted feet soundless on the cold metal floor. A few technicians stared as he swept past, and he found the dormitories… his bunk… there, yes… He dove into his trunk, digging frantically, throwing things aside. His pazaak deck… his cigarra pack… 4,000 credits… an extra jacket, a pair of socks, stored food rations, a bottle of ale… He thrust these things in his pockets and his satchel, jammed a dagger into his boot, and held a short-bladed vibroblade in his hand. He gathered a few other necessities and had started for the door when Yun came in.

The kid. Rookie. Jaq moved to stride past him, but Yun gripped his arm.

"Jaq, what's going on…?"

Jaq swung upwards in one smooth motion, driving the vibroblade through Yun's stomach. The kid retched, shocked, and doubled over. Jaq kicked him aside and snarled at him.

"I'm not Jaq either," he growled, and left.

------

_I hurt her. I hurt her a lot. And just when I thought she couldn't take it anymore, she showed me the Force. _

_I… I killed her, for what she did to me. I think that I loved her. I killed her because I loved her._

------

**Author's Notes: **Hmm. I'm pleased. The beginning was… painful. But once I got over it, it was all good. Might go back and fix it later. Probably not, because I'm a lazy sod. That's life for you. I KNOW I got the end quote wrong, but I'm not about to go through the game all over again just to get it right. You get the gist anyway. Until next time.


End file.
